The Unlikely Sanctuary
by VanishedElf
Summary: Legolas/Aragorn (AL) slash. After the great war Legolas journeys to Minas Tirith in search of solace, drawn there as if by some instinct.


Foreword: Aragorn/Legolas slash. I lay a lot of ground, but it's worth it.

Feedback: Yes please! First story, so let me know how it flows.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything other than the way the words are arranged. Tolkien owns the rest.

The Unlikely Sanctuary

Interesting how most things in life begin. Sometimes it is easy to trace a beginning, finding that whatever event is in question was born out of happiness, for example. Other events are more mysterious, seeming to arise out of neutrality. The details surrounding Legolas's stay at Minas Tirith sometime after the great war was an occurrence such as this, born without any obvious cause.

Legolas could remember the day that Queen Arwen left as he had been asked to act as one of her escorts to the docks leading elsewhere. Arwen's silence had been a peaceful one, and when Legolas returned it was not for her that he had feared. Despite the long and harrowing history that he shared with King Aragorn, Legolas had been hesitant and almost afraid to see him after Arwen departed. How _could_ the King be fine after being left behind to die a solitary mortal life? Legolas had been surprised by the subtle bitterness he felt towards Arwen, as she was indeed his own kind. Would Legolas himself ever abandon his immortality for a pairing such as theirs? Shaking his head, he realized he was in no place to judge Arwen.

Returning to Rivendell, Legolas finally asked Aragorn of his feelings about the parting. Aragorn had certainly been solemn but was very noble about the whole thing. "The threat of death becomes a real and terrifying reality in time, Legolas. Especially when it is one that one must willingly consent to", Aragorn spoke. "I will think fondly of my lady. Indeed, I almost feel free now... To live without pulling someone down with me into the natural course of my kind." A furrow slighted the usually calm brow of Legolas, and he remembered feeling oddly threatened by such a statement. Returning to placidity, Legolas nodded, "Yes, Estel. You are certainly strong. And I am sure there is still much life left to you, with many important tasks and experiences to come". At this, Aragorn's voice did not waver but Legolas noticed him hang his head ever so slightly, his dark hair falling over the hand that supported his brow. "Yes. There is still much to be done". Legolas looked down, feeling suddenly self conscious in the presence of Aragorn's sadness.

Years passed and Legolas returned to Mirkwood, tending to his community. For an elf, years become days and days become years and the perpetuation of life is driven mostly by a deep sense of connection to existence. For some, there is also love that justifies their immortality, but love was something that Legolas was reticent about. Thranduil only ever inquired about his son's interest in pairing once, to which Legolas had been vague and nondescript. It was puzzling, as Legolas was admired by many; even among the elves his beauty was unusual. There was a certain unattainable elegance to the way he walked, the softness of his voice and the way he moved his slender body in skillful ways, whether in war or peace. Perhaps it was because of this that most of those who knew Legolas perceived a certain fragility about him, overlooking the intensity that burned slowly behind his cerulean eyes. Perhaps this was why he often felt so deeply misunderstood.

Sometimes he would remember the days of the great war, and alongside his gratefulness for its end there was something oddly appealing about those times. Perhaps there had been something relieving about being just another member of the strange menagerie that was the Fellowship. Legolas had found it easier to forget his own lack of belonging where nobody belonged, yet there had been comradeship between them. Now among his own kind, Legolas's lack of belonging was both punctuated and ignored, leaving him restless.

Legolas also thought of Aragorn often. They had not been in each others' presence since Arwen had left, and Legolas wondered about how the King had fared over the years. For Legolas, Aragorn was fascinating; he been raised by the elves, had married an elf; even his calm demeanour at times seemed elven. Legolas supposed that the only divide between them was the man's mortal blood, something so significant it was almost difficult to think about. Perhaps Aragorn sometimes felt as Legolas did; as if he did not have a defined community to which he belonged. Was he elf, or man? Legolas found himself suddenly nervous, swallowing hard, and stopped himself. Making such conjectures about Aragorn seemed disrespectful.

One day late in winter Legolas went to his father with a request. "Father, I wish to leave". Thranduil paused, and then spoke carefully. "Leave? Why, this is unexpected. For how long, and for what reason?" Legolas quickly replied, "The reason I wish to leave is that there are things that I do not know, and which I cannot know as long as I remain here. As for how long I will be gone, I cannot say... For I am unsure as to that which I seek". Thranduil gazed away, suppressing his worry. "Well, I cannot say as you won't be missed, Legolas. But knowing you, this is more so an announcement than a request. So please take care of yourself. One cannot know for sure what the world holds".

Legolas did his best to pacify his father's usual hesitation regarding the "outside world", and left the next morning. The sun rose high above the rich green hills and as Legolas stood atop a stony peak, he felt an unexplained pull towards Minas Tirith. Perhaps the White City was a perfect meeting of familiar and new. There was the chance that the answers Legolas sought were buried in the past.

Weeks later, Legolas arrived at the white city. It was a rainy nightfall and there was some difficulty with the guards. His boots were covered in thick swamp mud, his long blond hair was plastered to his face and neck and it was difficult to recognize this stranger who was knocking upon the gates of Minas Tirith in the darkness. Embarrassed, eventually Legolas recollected that he was a close affiliate of the King and that there would be no confusion if this fact was confirmed. One of the guards departed and the other kept a suspicious eye upon Legolas who awkwardly stood below him, waiting. Quicker than he expected, the gate began to rise and a soft yellow light poured out into the night in which Legolas was. Stepping forward in relief, Legolas was shocked to see The King himself standing behind the gate, drier than Legolas but slowly becoming wet as the rain fell. Aragorn looked startlingly vigorous, and Legolas forgot that he should have aged. Aragorn's face lit up as he realized who was before him, and a reciprocal smile broke out across Legolas's face before he dropped his gaze, blushing and trying to force his expression into something more formal.

Aragorn was chuckling and he strode up to Legolas holding out his hands. As he placed them on Legolas's shoulders, Legolas felt their heat even through his taught, drenched clothes. "What a wonderful sight. One lone Elf-Prince, wet as a drowned rat. Don't worry Legolas, you are still as lovely as ever, even when you've been waist high in the swamp over there".

"My King. I did not mean to disturb you, and had I known that you would be summoned here yourself, I would have waited until the morning to call upon Minas Tirith".

Aragorn's warm voice responded swiftly, "Do not speak of such courtesies. You will always be welcome here, no matter what the hour. Now come with me."

Legolas followed Aragorn up to the top-most tier of the White City, where Aragorn dismissed his guard at the gate. Legolas was surprised at how natural Aragorn seemed. Despite his high status, it appeared as though Aragorn had remained humble and personable over the years.

"So Legolas. What brings you to these parts?" Aragorn's voice carried into the washroom where Legolas was hurriedly stripping off his sodden clothing. Muddy water trickled down his back, running down his legs in rivulets before draining slowly into the stony outlet on the bathroom floor. It was almost ridiculous. Legolas struggled to produce a sensible response to Aragorn's question. When he finally spoke his voice was calm, revealing none of his internal struggle. "I was no longer content with my life in Mirkwood. Although wholesome and enjoyable, I feel there is more to realize about Middle Earth than my home alone can offer. If I am to attain the wisdom of my ancestors, I believe this is-". Legolas stopped abruptly as Aragorn came around the corner suddenly, tossing a drying cloth on the bench.

"There is hot water in the basin in the next room. Here are some clothes that should do for tonight, and if you are in need of rest there is a bed upstairs. If there is anything else you need, don't hesitate to call on my helper in the next hall." Legolas had covered himself with the dripping shirt that he clasped in both hands, but his modesty seemed completely unnoticed by The King, who stood looking directly at him. The elf remained strikingly beautiful and delicate even in his discomfort. "I want to know more of this journey that you speak, but for now I must return to my duties. Can we proceed tomorrow? For how long will you be with us?" Legolas replied quietly, "There is no hurry, Estel. As I do not know of my exact destination, there is no haste. Thank you for your welcome".

Aragorn smiled, and once more placed his warm hands on Legolas's shoulders. Legolas breathed in quickly upon the contact, feeling their heat on his bare skin. Noticing, Aragorn looked searchingly into Legolas's eyes, concerned. As if suddenly caught off guard by something, Aragorn's expression softly darkened and he stepped away, walking out of the room. Legolas let out the breath he was holding, suddenly aware once again of his surroundings. He must have substantially frozen himself out in the cold rain and it was addling his mind. He walked gracefully into the next room to clean himself, pushing the unexplained interaction out of his mind.

The days turned to weeks, and Legolas remained at Minas Tirith. He mostly spent his days wandering the city, speaking to the many that were curious about his presence there. Spring was coming and the sun strengthened, glinting off his hair as he gazed out across the plains, inhaling the sweet smell of the earth reawakening. After the day he first arrived he and Aragorn and had spoken until sundown of times past. Legolas had explained his journey in more detail and Aragorn listened unwearyingly. The odd tension that had arisen in their first meeting did not disappear but became manageable as Legolas grew more comfortable. It was this adjustment, the slow relaxation of Legolas into their ordinary conversations, that allowed him to eventually feel more at home.

Still, many burning questions began to arise in his mind that Legolas refrained from asking. What did Aragorn consider himself to be? Now that Lady Arwen was gone was he entirely at peace with his human nature? Or did he sometimes feel a longing to return to Rivendell, to be among the elves? Glancing into Aragorn's thoughtful eyes, it felt impossible that his questions would be met with insult. But still, he kept his silence in these matters.

It remained a mystery to Legolas as to why he remained in the city. When he left Mirkwood he had envisioned an adventure spanning across hundreds of lands, requiring years and years to complete. So why did he feel suddenly captured by his time here at Minas Tirith? With the careful attentiveness of his race he examined his mindset each day, intrigued.

So came to be to be the conversation that took place in the upper garden after weeks of respite since Legolas's arrival. Having already spoken of past adventures, Aragorn and Legolas had taken to discussing anything that seemed to come to mind. They spoke of the medicinal qualities of plants one night, and of the wonders of time and space another. Legolas often found himself talking more than he ever before, irresistible in the presence of Aragorn's dutiful listening. It reminded Legolas of when he was much younger and had not yet learned the custom of silent receptivity, of giving instead of taking.

This particular evening they were speaking of the social customs of their differing races. Legolas stood resting on the railing overlooking the plains below. Aragorn was sitting by a small table, one hand raised up to his face, his fingers thoughtfully pondering his beard. "So what do you think about humans, Legolas. In all truth".

Legolas responded hesitantly. "The anomaly of humankind fascinates me. Perhaps it is the threat of death that inspires such behaviours in humans that I find almost... Unnecessary. I feel I cannot speak of these matters with much candidacy, though, as you are human, King. Although you do not seem like most humans either, for that matter". Legolas halted, realizing what he had said.

Aragorn smiled softly, and continued, "Just what are these unnecessary behaviours you speak of?" Legolas glanced at Aragorn and noticed how the moonlight lit up his eyes, rendering him majestic and alive. It was hard to believe that one day, he too would absolve himself to the cyclical nature of human existence. Taking a deep breath, Legolas tried to centre his thoughts.

"They seem in such a hurry to feel any certain way. I have often seen humans act without careful deliberation. What could be fuelling these decisions, if not logic? Perhaps passion...", Legolas paused thoughtfully.

"Have you ever felt passion, Legolas?"

Legolas turned quickly towards Aragorn, a look of surprise on Legolas's face. He had not been expecting such a personal question and a tirade of embarrassment fell upon him. He breathed deeply and exhaled before responding, "It is an odd question to ask, Estel. For what reason do you wish to know?" Aragorn's expression was calm, but there was a hint of urgency in his eyes. Legolas felt awkward but suddenly desired to answer Aragorn's question with the same ease and forwardness that it had been posed. "What do you mean by passion, Estel...?"

Aragorn breathed deeply himself before answering, "There are many forms of passion that exist. But looking back to what I intended when I first asked the question, I was referring to the kind of passion that is romantic."

Legolas turned away, blushing. It had been years since his father had posed a similar question, and the same resistance rose in him as it had then. It was made worse by the accountability he felt to Aragorn. There was a catch in his usually steady voice as he responded, "I have not yet felt that which you speak of."

"Your response seems unlikely to me, somehow." Aragorn spoke so softly that his voice almost carried away in evening breeze. "For such a beautiful elf to have neglected love for the entirety of his immortality".

Legolas's body seized, defensiveness rising in his throat. He tried to calm himself, remembering that Aragorn was only saying to him what many had said before. Gripping the railing, he began, "Alas, I think I understand you now. You speak of my beauty, seeing it as a guarantee to some form of love. Interesting, as this was something I often pondered myself when I was younger; why someone so beautiful as myself found it impossible to feel excitement for anybody else. Am I vain? Do I believe myself to be elite, too superior to lower myself to the likes of anybody else?" Legolas's voice was raising and he spoke quicker, "But strangely, that has never made much sense to me. I know myself only to be beautiful based on what others tell me; it was never something I just assumed. I do not lack humility and I love many others. Just not in the way with which you speak. And perhaps... perhaps this frustrates me."

Aragorn stood up quickly, and then slowed his pace, walking in a controlled manner to join Legolas. Leaning on the railing, Aragorn turned and cast his grey eyes on Legolas, a look of compassion on his face. When he spoke, his voice burned with emotion.

"I can understand your frustration. It must be frustrating to never be seen. For if people only see your beauty, they are blind to who you really are, are they not?"

Legolas's eyes widened, and Aragorn continued.

"Because you are so ideal, Legolas, perhaps you have always been a symbol rather than a real person to those around you. But in love, being a mere symbol, you would receive nothing in return aside from flattery."

Legolas's one hand remained on the railing, and he clasped it tightly. His other hand dangled at his side trembling slightly. He had never heard the words that Aragorn was speaking to him from anybody else.

"It seems undesirable to be the object that fulfills someone else's one sided fantasy, does it not? To be nothing more than a beautiful manikin...Yet it seems so natural... So simple, to assume that someone so beautiful must be readily content with themselves. Are you content, Legolas?"

Legolas refused to look away even though Aragorn's recognition was almost to much to endure. His brow furrowed, and he spoke, "I am grateful for those around me. I have been cherished and honoured by them, and I do not take that for granted."

Aragorn assured, "Of course Legolas. But you did not answer my question."

Legolas found himself fixated on Aragorn's elegant collar and wondered how it would feel under his fingers. Shaking his head, he looked away and was baffled at the arrival of such a thought. Where did it come from? Gaining some composure he responded, "Sometimes in my life I have felt misunderstood or alone. But it has not been unbearable."

Aragorn's eyes bore into him and he could feel their intensity even while looking away. Aragorn asked, "Do you think that perhaps this could be... part of what you are looking for?" Legolas looked confused. Aragorn continued, "To feel understood. To know what it feels like not to be alone". Legolas opened his mouth, as if to deny what Aragorn said, and Aragorn interrupted, "It is not such a foul notion, to be curious, Legolas".

The breeze had become a wind and Legolas squinted as his golden hair whipped into his face. In one natural movement, Aragorn reached over and gently brushed it out of the way, his fingers lingering for a moment above Legolas's ear before letting his hand drop. A wave of desperation rocked Legolas's body, and he gritted his teeth, feeling his stomach muscles tighten. Without thinking his hand suddenly moved to touch the soft angles of Aragorn's collar. As quickly as it began, trepidation came upon him and he dropped his hand, darting away. "Legolas!" He was sprinting out of the garden. Aragorn called after him with alarm.

Legolas ran down into the city's melee. Left and right people noticed him, but he could not tell if it was because of his flushed face and watering eyes or if it was simply because he was an elf. He ran and ran until he found a solitary balcony. Leaping in one clean movement over the edge, he landed solidly upon a small ledge protruding from below. Sitting down he crossed his legs and closed his eyes, calming his breath. When in battle, Legolas succeeded because of his still mind. In the stillness, truth could be found.

What if Aragon spoke the truth. Despite being surrounded by a strong community and having had many thrilling adventures Legolas wanted to experience passion. Every time he had courted another and had given himself, he felt nothing. There was that younger elf from the forests of Lothlorien who took Legolas softly off the shore of a nearby lake. This elf had spoken mostly of himself, presenting facts about his life as if hoping to prove his adequacy to Legolas. When this elf finally confessed his love, Legolas had not the heart to tell him that the elf knew nothing about the one he loved. Legolas's beauty and approval had been enough, and again Legolas felt alone. There was only once more that Legolas had given himself, to an older elf who travelled through Mirkwood from time to time. She would often apologize for the littlest of things, making him feel like a spectator to some kind of performance. The divide between them spanned. Although she did not beg, Legolas knew that she wished for him to remain. But he had already grown bored, and soon left her behind.

Legolas thought about how long he had known Aragorn. Had these complicated emotions always existed towards him? He remembered when people had questioned Aragorn's place as a King, Legolas been furiously defensive. There was just something that seemed so _real_ about Aragorn. He was a king who at one time ran through the hills and forests as a ranger, tasting the rivers and feeling the earth. When Legolas fought alongside him, he could see the look of ages past in Aragorn's face, the effort and the compassion for all that lived.

Did Aragorn see Legolas as a child? Shaking his head, Legolas groaned. "All along he was just trying to help me", he thought to himself. "I arrive at his doorstep for no real reason and he takes me in and listens to me speak for hours and hours. He has made time for me, never once exposing to me the ludicrous nature of my visit." Legolas closed his eyes, humiliated regret burning his temples. "How completely and utterly revealing my actions must be. He simply moved my hair away so I could see, a natural thing for someone as compassionate and caring as Aragorn to do. It didn't mean anything like..."

Legolas stood up, determined. It was unfair for him to cast his feelings upon Aragorn, abusing his open armed hospitality. How could he have been so naive? "Even though I am centuries older than him, I have shown a complete lack of wisdom or understanding".

It was late when he stepped quietly into his quarters to retrieve his things. There wasn't much, and he easily placed it into a small sac, throwing it over his shoulder. Sighing, he turned to go and there stood Aragorn, leaning against the doorway to the spacious room. His hair cast shadows upon his angular features, and he appeared strong and serious. His face was hard to read.

Swallowing softly, Legolas managed to ask, "What are you doing up so late, Estel?"

"I could not sleep."

"Oh... I see. Is there anything I can do to assist you?" Legolas offered politely, routinely.

"Perhaps you could tell me why you are leaving."

Legolas blinked, and shifted his feet. Already he could feel his cheeks flushing and his heart began to race. But he would not fail Aragorn again. "I cannot continue to exploit your generosity, Estel. You have been very patient with me, but I cannot continue in my absurd rudeness. I am deeply sorry."

Aragorn came forward, step by step, getting closer. He kept his eyes on Legolas's, never looking away. His face was curious, and once again wore a look of concern. "Rude? What led you to believe that I found your presence rude, Legolas?"

Legolas spoke clearly, resolute on appearing composed. "It is not because of what I have done, but because of what my curiosity will eventually drive me to do, that I must leave."

Aragorn tipped his head slightly and his expression intensified, but his voice remained careful as he asked, "What is it you are curious about, Legolas?"

Suddenly, Legolas's longing to know overwhelmed him and he resolved to respond in complete honesty. Taking a deep breath, he finally posed his long deliberated question.

"I know not why I am drawn to you, Estell, but trust that I would never intentionally impose anything upon you. I wonder about your origins and long to know who you are. I do not know why. Have you abandoned your elven past? Do you ever long for Lady Arwen, or are you finished with our kind, deeming us too fragile, too particular, too cold?"

There was a silence that felt like an eternity, before Aragorn finally spoke, clearing his throat. When he spoke his voice was kind. "Years have passed since Arwen left, and I anticipated her parting long before. I think often of Arwen, but I believe that it is more a general feeling of familiarity that I _long _for, day to day. Here in the White City I am happy to carry out my duties and I look proudly upon the strength and resilience of my people. However, it would be insincere to say that I never long for elven company. In some ways they are also my people and until the day that I pass on, I will consider them to be."

Aragorn was now so close that Legolas could feel his breath and it smelled sweet, like honey.

"In this way, I could never consider your presence impolite. Legolas, you are my people. And even so, you are an exceptional beauty beyond your kind. A beauty not just external, but in your heart. You are so bright, Legolas... I have enjoyed every moment in your presence, so do not apologize once more."

Pausing, Aragorn's grey eyes glanced up into Legolas's, smouldering him once more with their constant intensity. Legolas could hardly breathe.

"Beautiful... But it would be foolish to consider you fragile, or even delicate, Legolas..."

Aragorn raised his fingers and once again tucked Legolas's hair behind his pointed ear, this time continuing the motion slowly down, along Legolas's neck, gently stroking his collar to his chest. Legolas was breathing quickly and he could feel his nostrils flaring as Aragorn's fingers moved up and down, up and down along his neck.

"...you are not a beauty to sacrilege, but someone to know, to understand."

Legolas's eyes threatened to roll up into his head from the persistence of Aragorn's fingers, but he clenched his jaw and kept them locked onto Aragorn's. He tried to speak, and choked, "I have to leave, Estel, because..."

"All of your life, you tell me that you have done nothing but give. You give to your neighbours, give to you family, give to your friends. It is very noble."

Aragorn's voice was soft and Legolas wondered how it could be so calm right now.

"But what if... just what if, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood... wanted to take, just for once?"

Legolas felt his shame slowly fading away, giving rise to twisted confusion. Aragorn moved forward, his rough beard grazing Legolas's face, and Legolas could feel Aragorn's hair becoming entangled in his own. Aragorn's hand dropped down and his fingertips softly played upon Legolas's hand.

"But you cannot take that which is not given. Legolas...What if I said that I wanted to give you something. What if I said... that for now, I give to you myself".

The rushing desperation returned with a clap and Legolas dropped his rucksack, items banging upon the stone floor. Aragorn's breath had quickened. There was little thought, but mere propulsion forward; Legolas slowly raised his fingertips and ran them up Aragorn's back, burying his nose deep into Aragorn's hair. It smelled like fresh air. Still clothed, they began to kiss, and it felt like ages of longing were erupting out of Legolas, threatening to break him in two.

Aragorn pulled away and Legolas watched imploringly, his body shaking. Aragorn's eyes burned and he began to unlace his own shirt. This struck Legolas as torturously provocative and he pushed himself into Aragorn, pressing him against the nearest wall, cool and stony against his wrists. Incited by Legolas's impatience, Aragorn stopped undressing himself and began kissing Legolas once more, gripping tangled handfuls of his ivory hair.

They made love on the edge of the bed. They moved and Legolas's voice broke out, a soft, unrestrained cry. His mind was on fire, yet so still. Eternity. He could feel Aragorn so close, closer than anybody had ever been. There was no where to go and no where to be. It was rebirth, it was danger. Freedom was his, and he soared.

A while later they lay side by side, gazing at the ceiling. Aragorn was quiet, and they did not speak for a while. Finally, Legolas asked, "Why did you weep, Estel?"

Aragorn answered naturally, without any resistance, "Because... It has been a long time since I have felt such things."

Legolas thought about this for a long time, and realized that he was at peace with the fact that Aragorn sought him partially because of his elfhood. Legolas was grateful for Aragorn's past, grateful for his desires, and was content to understand him in this way. Perhaps it was because he too felt understood, at last.

"It is an honour to pay witness to such a thing, Estel."

"Legolas..."

Turning away, Legolas looked out into the vast night.

Legolas stayed at The White City for a while longer. However, as few things last forever, eventually he returned to Mirkwood to prepare for his departure to the shores. Riding away, his deep sadness was coloured with thankfulness. He felt whole. He had experienced something meaningful. He had been completely understood by at least one other living being. And at last he forgave Lady Arwen, finally understanding the peril of her indecision.

It had all been made easier by Aragorn's composure which only wavered as Legolas's horse was a far away speck on the distant hills. But as usual, there were things to be done. And what really happens, in the distant layers of eternity, is unknown to anybody, even the elves. It is unexplained, akin to the ephemeral yet powerful meeting between Aragorn and Legolas that spring, long ago.


End file.
